Category Archives: culture

Nimble Year of the Rat

Here’s to new beginnings and a brilliant and lively Lunar Year of the Rat. 😉

2020 Lunar New Year eCard (Awl Scribe)

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To Light

Wishing one and all an illuminated Christmas filled with the brightest love.

Awl Scribe Christmas 2019
(Photo Location: Haeundae Beach, Busan, South Korea)

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Propitious Year of the Pig

Wishing one and all bountiful inspirations in the Lunar Year of the Pig. 🙂

2019 Lunar New Year eCard (Awl Scribe)

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No Pics Today

Today I didn’t make any pics
While I was spending time with
Fam and having a simple meal, just
Like the good ol’ days when
Privacy was still valued
Conversations were audible
And time slowly spent gazing
Truly into their eyes.

Merry Christmas. 😉

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Chivalry Never Grows Old

A rainy evening it was as I made my way towards the exit of the establishment with my lady friend. Within stranger’s proximity, he too was walking in the same direction with his companions.

Our separate quiet chatters seemed to entwine in the cool evening air as we convened towards the door, and with passer-by’s intuition we slowed down to allow his group to pass.

While they did, he stopped a distance behind them, doing the same thing we did.

“Thank you.”

I glanced in his direction and gave him a smile.

He gave a nod as a grin upturned his wrinkled mouth and his eyes caught mine and twinkled in his aged face.

”You’re welcome, madam.”

Chivalry never grows old.

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Castle

Canter to a halt, quiet
Still air laden; the leaves they whisper
Of martyrs and legends;

Blood once spilled where
Poppies grow, and silence that
Falls ’round the castell old;

Take me to the maiden, bound
To the dark night; take me in place
Of purity and light.

(Photo location: Eilean Donan, Scotland)

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Daily Prompt: Genie

We could be genies
Granting wishes that
We wish to grant.

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The Bachata – Part Three

As the music began, she drew him in, feeling his breath on her cheek.

“Come closer a little.”

His hand was travelling down her body, coming to rest at the small concave low at her back. She gasped at the sensation of his fingers on her skin; it brought back memories from so long ago that she thought she had left behind.

And as they danced, each move was a step back in time, each gaze a stronger stirring in their souls, and each turn closer to sweet destruction.

That dance filled the whole room, so much that everything had to melt away. All she could hear was the poignant beauty of the song in her blood; all she could feel were his hands on her skin and his breath on her lips.

He had that look in his eyes, that same desirous look of fever and wild that she remembered. The rhythm was pounding in her ears now, and all she knew was how perfectly their movements connected her to him and him her.

It was as if they had never parted, and the bachata plays, timeless.

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The Bachata – Part Two

She stood before him and he caught the scent of her perfume in her hair. Leaning in with his lips close at her ear, he spoke in a low voice.

“Do you know that you are the most beautiful here?”

“What do you mean?”

She could feel her face flushing and his intent gaze on her.

“Simply that you are the most interesting, elegant and beautiful woman.”

“Do you want to dance with me now?”

Before she could answer, he had taken her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Still blushing, she draped hers around his neck. An upbeat percussion rhythm began and the musicians took the cue.

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The Bachata – Part One

Something I promised a friend; part one first while the rest writes itself, in due time. 😉

Dimly lit and cosy, the interior of the bar contrasted sharply with the summer sidewalks and idyllic outdoors.

She made her way casually, yet not undeliberately down the hallway. The men glanced up and stared; they always do. But she was not distracted.

And there he was.

Tailored blue jacket thrown over white linen shirt and fitted blue jeans, accompanied by the usual glass of red and an air of relaxed elegance, at the far table beside the curtained windows.

She turned and walked in his direction, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth as he looked up that instance and saw her. He smiled, then got up as she arrived at the table.

“It’s been a while.”

“Indeed; how have you been?”

“Well, life goes on.”

“Like a bachata.”

“Yes, we dance – sad words to beautiful melodies – and that makes life more bearable.”

A smile in his eyes, and she could not help smiling back. Linking her arm in his, they walked down together to the dance floor.

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